


Crash

by HeyMcRaely



Category: Joker (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMcRaely/pseuds/HeyMcRaely
Summary: You've never actually been inside Wayne Hall, before--Arthur thinks Thomas Wayne's birthday gala is the perfect opportunity. It's easy to be in love when you're at a party, right?
Relationships: Arthur Fleck & You
Kudos: 1





	Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a New Year's Eve fic, but then I let the realism in and it got sad.

For Thomas Wayne’s birthday, there’s a big bash happening at Wayne Hall. A formal dance with an orchestra. Guests dressed from head to red carpet in silks and furs. You and Arthur aren’t on the guest list, no surprise, but Arthur seems to think you should be. This was his idea. So a quick zip up the back of your dress and a twist of his trick bow tie, and you two are boarding a bus in consignment shop finery. You put your hand on Arthur’s jittery leg and he blinks and smiles as if he’s just remembered a good dream. Leans over and kisses your neck, cold where you’ve pulled your hair up.

A rainy dash to the performing arts center and Arthur takes your hand, sidesteps the grand staircase for a lower entrance you didn’t know existed. It’s warm in here, marble shining, hushed sounds, a crowd to go unnoticed in. A passing waiter holds out hors d’ourves and that’s your first and last ever bite of caviar, spit into a napkin. Arthur nearly chokes on his laughing, but it’s the good kind.

You can hear the band in the ballroom. Arthur’s head tilts dreamily, but it would be risky to go out on the floor. Too many eyes and you’d be too lost in his.

You stand at the doorway instead, watching the swirl of people. Soon almost everyone is inside and the CEO of Wayne Enterprises stands to give a speech. Thomas sits, gleaming at the high table, overloaded with food and drink. He takes his wife’s hand softly.

Your feet ache in your heels. You worked overtime four out of the past five days. The rich carpet swallows your balance and Arthur grabs your hand to help you stay up. The audience rumbles a laugh at something the CEO’s said.

All this week Arthur had tried, had crouched at your knee to catch your eye. When you’d said you were in a bad place, he’d said he wished he could be there with you. When he came in the next night with his nose bleeding, you’d held his face in your hands over the sink even though the blood had already dried. You’d said, desperate, _I just wish I’d been with you._

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

A cheer goes up under the sound of a crystal rainshower as hundreds of champagne glasses are clinked. The security guards grip both you and Arthur and drag you toward the exit. Your ankle twists and you cry out, but the guard only wrenches you through your stumbling. Arthur’s arms scramble, reaching. 

“Hey! Stop, let her go!” he shouts. Passersby look. As he is twisted away, you find his eyes–fixed on you, wide and worried, dodging the guard’s wrestle. Not dodging the fist that comes for his chin.

The orchestra starts to play as they shove you onto the steps outside.

Arthur’s swinging to get to you before the guard even lets go. His hands are immediately on your face, hair already heavy in the rain, heads pressed together, blood trickling from his lip, the wind knocked out of you it’s so cold. 

“Get the fuck outta here!” The hall doors thud shut.

You’re gasping for breath. Your ankle is twinging. Your lungs feel shallow like you’re coming out of a crying jag. You try to wipe the red from Arthur’s chin, shaking. Arthur takes your hand, rests it on his heart, racing. He raises his eyebrows, asks with his eyes. You muster a shivering nod. _I’m with you._ He nods back. _With you._

He strips off his suit jacket and hurriedly drapes it over your shoulders, damp and limp. 

He goes to retrieve your hand where it’s hidden in his long sleeve, but a movement of exaggerated surprise–he withdraws a bouquet of flowers from the cuff. Gestures to his chest– _for me?_

And he’s standing there, soaked skinny in his vest and button-down. Hair turned to dripping tendrils. Holding up a drooping bouquet of fake flowers that are getting the petals beaten off of them in the downpour. His face is innocent and open and bleeding from the mouth. Inside, Thomas Wayne is kissing his wife’s cheek in chandelierlight. You and Arthur are learning the taste of each other in blood and rain.


End file.
